


Spoil the Child

by cat_77



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen, References to Child Abuse, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena was a child beneath her mountain of crazy, and the rod should be spared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoil the Child

**Author's Note:**

> For the "corporal punishment" square at hc_bingo. Please heed the warnings.
> 
> * * *

It was, Sarah mused, like some strange sort of alternate reality of the life she had thought lay before her. Actually, the whole clone thing was like an alternate reality, so this was an alternate reality of an alternate reality. Whatever the hell it was, it was far from perfect, but close enough to real to call home.

She tucked a blanket around Kira where she was curled up on the sofa and placed a quick kiss on her furrowed forehead, wishing her pleasant dreams, or at least some that didn't involve mad scientists chasing after them all to run experiments on what they considered to be property and not living, breathing human beings. She then turned to take in the scene before her, and gave in to the urge to shake her head.

Mrs. S was in the kitchenette, pulling down boxes and cans as if nothing was wrong in the world. Fee was at her side, sipping from something a little closer to 80 proof than coffee and bitching about needing to redo his nails, holding up a chipped one for Mrs. S to make the appropriate clucking noises over before handing him some potatoes to scrub anyway. Helena sat at the small table, poking at Cosima's laptop case and blatantly attempting to steal sugar from the bowl, fingers already sticky and leaving little marks on everything in her path.

"I said no," Mrs. S said without bothering to turn around.

Helena paused, fingers liberally coated in little white crystals frozen just beside her lips. "I have hunger," she pouted, as there was no other word to describe the action.

"I understand that, which is why I am making a proper meal," Mrs. S said calmly, as though to a child Kira's age. It was a voice Sarah was well accustomed to. About as surprising as the tone, which is to say not at all, she then muttered, "Or at least as proper as one can manage given the circumstances."

There was the clink of the lid of the bowl glancing off the rim as Helena reached for it once more anyway, and then there was a rather put upon sigh and Mrs. S chided, "It's going to be like that then, is it? Misbehaving, refusing to do as you're told?" The tone turned lighter as she added, "You really are twins then, yeah?"

Mrs. S turned, likely expecting to see a round of smiles even though Sarah had long had her say about the twin thing, but was instead confronted by two rather shocked faces and one extremely penitent one. Helena had stood, silently removed her jumper and vest, and braced herself against the wall, exposing her horrifically scarred back to all. "Good lord," Mrs. S breathed, even as Felix managed a half choked, "Christ on a cracker."

Helena looked up questioningly, her hair a frizzled veil around her face. "Christ is not on a cracker," she corrected, as though that was the most important thing to be addressed at the moment.

Sarah approached her as the other two seemed to be frozen in place, hands out slightly to show she was not a threat. She had seen the scars before, gruesome though they may be, but now, in the harsh light from the overhead bulb, she saw other, smaller markings, thin lines that would have been straight if they had not been mottled by the overlying scar tissue. They were near parallel, and there were oh so very many of them.

"Helena?" Sarah asked, swallowing heavily before she could continue. "Did they, did Tomas, beat you?"

Helena looked at her as though she were the one living in childlike simplicity. "I misbehaved; I was punished. This is how it is done," she replied as though reciting something learned by rote, learned through the pain of experiencing it again and again and again.

"It really is not," Fee replied, voice oddly quiet, especially for him.

Helena turned to him, damaged skin undulating with the movement, ignoring her own partial nudity as well as the way Fee put a hand over his eyes to block the same. "You spare the rod, you spoil the child. The rod was not spared and the child was not spoiled," she told him. She then addressed Mrs. S, apparently seeing her as the one to deliver the punishment. "I am ready," she promised before she faced the wall and tensed in anticipation.

Instead of a strike, she found a gentle hand upon her shoulder. Sarah had to give Mrs. S credit as she flinched slightly from the contact with the abused tissue, but otherwise stayed put in her usual stolid way. "Oh, love, that's not how it's done," her foster mother sighed. "Not here, not ever."

Helena was clearly confused, or possibly thought it was a trick of some kind as she remained where she was, hands forward and back arched. "Then how do you purify the sinner? How do you right the wrong?" She seemed to ask the wall, her own dirty boots, or maybe even the air around her more than the woman at her side.

"How are we punished?" Sarah guessed at her meaning, and received a nod of confirmation in reply.

"By living this farce of a life," Fee muttered quietly. He lowered his hand and looked out to the living space where Kira lay before he took a swig of his not-coffee and offered, louder, "You can do the dishes or sweep the floor or something. Better yet, you can promise not to turn on us or try to kill us all in our sleep."

"I have already promised," Helena reminded him, less than impressed at his repetitive concerns.

Mrs. S handed Helena her discarded clothing, not even making a face at the sugar and candy wrappers that shook out onto the floor. She gently urged her to put it back on, and explained, "You right the wrong by trying not to repeat it again. You listen, and you learn, and you do better. Sometimes, that alone is enough. Others, tasks are found to keep you busy and avoid the temptation of misbehaving."

Fee mouthed the word "dishes" and Sarah hid an inappropriate smile by stealing some of his coffee, the burn of the barely warm liquid a welcome distraction. 

She didn't want to think of what life was like for her twin, didn't want to think how it could have easily been her instead. All the clones, they were all so unique despite the underlying sameness, but knowing that Helena was a sister, a real sister, and not just a copy, made her view her just a little bit differently, despite every attempt not to. She couldn't imagine what her other half went through, nor could she rationalize the mass destruction and violent murders that came of it. She didn't know what to think of any of it at all, other than to shove the past behind them and try to start somewhat anew while they also tried to simply survive. Then shit like this raised its ugly head and she was forced to deal with it anyway.

Helena pulled on her clothing, but looked like she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop: pensive, anticipating, fingers twitching nervously. Her hair was caught in her collar, and Mrs. S untucked it, smoothing it down into some rough semblance of order. She let her hand linger - one thing they all learned quickly was how touch starved the once abandoned girl could be, and just when they could get away with indulging her without imminent violence. "Love," Mrs. S asked now, voice cracking slightly on the word. "This man who raised you, did he do that to your back?"

Helena shook her head. "Tomas did not raise me. Tomas guided me, led me to where I was needed," she insisted. It was still a bit of a sore point, really. She thought she had been serving a higher power and they thought she had been an insane psychotic killer hellbent on the destruction of her own kind. It really did not help matters that she now pulled a blade from her pocket, small and sharp and stained with rusty brown. "I am angel. I give myself wings," she told them, a hint of almost pride to her tone.

Fee swore again, and finished off the last of his mug in one go. He then immediately poured himself a new one, giving up even the pretense of coffee this time, and was brother enough to pour the same for his sister. They clinked glasses with a mumbled, "Cheers," and then damn near downed it all at once.

However, their actions meant that they were otherwise occupied while Mrs. S dealt with their demented angel of a pseudo-sibling. By the time Sarah leaned back against the counter, a refill of her own in hand, Mrs. S had managed to wrangle Helena into a chair. She was now crouched beside her, dirty blade discarded to the side, and was promising her, "You have your wings now, child. They are full and beautiful, just like you."

"They are beautiful," Helena repeated, a small smile gracing her features. It looked foreign, or possibly demented - the jury was still out on that one despite multiple late night conversations.

"Yes, yes they are," Mrs. S told her, and Sarah understood the need for the lie even as part of her remembered the promise never to do so again. "Why don't we concentrate on taking care of them now? Making sure no harm comes to them?"

She went on for a little while longer, too quiet for Sarah to catch every word said. She did, however, catch it when Felix whispered in her own ear, "Marbles or feathers, she's lost too many of them already." There was something extra to his tone though, a concern she knew he tried too hard to deny, and she knew the little psycho had won over another, at least until the next time she ranted about sodomy and the appropriate punishment for it.

For now though, there were no lectures or threats or even stolen sweets specifically marked for the visiting Delphine. Instead, there was an excruciating tentative, "Kira gave me hug. Will you give me hug too?"

Mrs. S wrapped her arms around her readily enough, held her tight, and whispered, "Now that I would be glad to give you."

And so Sarah found herself staring into the depths of a mug near gone empty again, contemplating her crazy life. Her daughter lay safely asleep in the other room, her brother leaned against her shoulder at her side. Her clone and her clone's girlfriend were due back in about an hour, and her foster mother knelt on the floor hugging her insane and utterly damaged sister while said sister ran her fingers through the trails of sugar spread out across the table. 

Outside, the world churned on without a clue that there were mad scientists and battles for intellectual and genetic properties, everyone else all caught up in their own worries and blindness. Inside was a shattered semblance of home, and she intended to grip on to its precious gift of the hint of protection with everything she had. She wanted more, and Mrs. S and Fee and even her crazy-ass sister would try to get it for her even as she would try to do the same for them. And hopefully, maybe, someday, things really would turn out for the better.

Until then, she would take what she was given, and try really hard not to scam for just that little bit more.

 

End.


End file.
